Of Autumn and Spring
by Yessica-N
Summary: A story about the seasons as heralded by father and son, and the people they meet on the way. Deity AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I blame my girlfriend for suggesting a Deity AU for Joxter and Snufkin so that's what i wrote**

**This chapter: **a story on the origin of the seaons

* * *

It is said there has been a time when the world was not bound to the seasons. When there had only been life, wild and unrelenting. When trees blossomed all year around and fruit grew plentiful.

There had been warmth and comfort in every nook and cranny of the land. And there had been The Joxter, who walked the earth with decay in his wake.

Where he went, the air grew chilly. His gaze was enough to make the leaves whiter, turn yellow and red and brown, falling from the trees in heaps. He brought clouds, trailing after him with storms brewing in them and rains like a flood. He brought encroaching darkness and wind that could fell mountains.

He brought death.

His wanderings took him every which way and he lingered until the water froze over and the flowers had wilted and the days had grown to be incredibly short. Until the place he visited had become quite unenjoyable and inhospitable. And when the first specks of snow fell from the sky, he moved on to some other direction, leaving the lands he went to barren and dismal forever.

As such, the people of the world spoke his name in contempt. Not his real one, but the ones he was given. Autumn or Syksy or Herfst or one of the many others depending on who you asked. They feared his coming, for it meant the end of abundance.

Out loud they might wonder what his purpose was, his reason for smothering nature in its prime like a helpless infant getting smothered in their cot and had Joxter been the kind of creature to care about the whims of mortals, he might have told them they were wrong.

For there was neither purpose nor reason. Only compulsion. The inherent need ingrained into every single one of his bones, to seek out warmth and food. Afternoon naps in the sun and fruit hanging plump from every branch. To enjoy the forests and the rivers and hills to his heart's content, until his curse caught up with him or until boredom seized him once more.

He marred the land for he was as old as time, birthed with the world, existing in the same breath and likely to be there still when it faltered.

But Joxter did not explain such complexities, either because he didn't care to or because he didn't know how. His heart was full of other things and he was not in the tendency to harbor much attachment to anything or anyone, with very little exceptions.

Yet there came a time where he traveled further and wider than any other had ever done before, and found himself in a flowering country greener than those which he had visited up until then. The water in the rivers ran quicker here, smoother too, and the vegetation was lush and colorful, with berries growing on every bush and too many animals to name.

And so he found a remarkable woman, unlike any others, a Goddess in every sense of the word. She had kind eyes and a patient smile and children on her lap, and she was the most beautiful person Joxter had ever laid eyes on during all his travels.

The Mymble, a deity of virility who had many daughters, tiny things wild at heart and lively. And The Joxter, who was much like the weather he harbored - beautiful and bitter.

She amused him, and he amused her, and for some time they were content in mutual merriment. His touch did not have any hold on her, for she shone as brightly as the moon and stars, brightly like the sun. Her land unaffected by his scourge.

(Joxter told her that he loved her. As close to loving as he'd ever come. "Oh, my dear." She would answer softly, while her eyes alighted with glee. "I do not doubt so.")

But after some time together, which was certainly agreeable for both of them, he felt the need to roam pull sharply on his feet once more. The inexplicable wanderlust that drove him forwards and which never let him alone. Settling would be against his nature.

Mymble understood, as she had understood everything before that. The sky was clear when he left, and she stood at the edge of the woods with bare feet and flowing skirt, knowing he would return. Because that was also in his nature after all.

And when he did she greeted him full of mirth and anticipation and with their child in her arms.

A son who looked every little bit like the Joxter, with unruly hair, freckles on his cheeks and traces of sunlight in his brown eyes.

The boy was peculiar in many ways. Untamed and fidgety, uncomfortable when constricted to the house and always in desperate need of solitude and often he would flee into the woods for days at a time.

(Indeed, the Joxter had come down once to find the boy sitting on the floor of the living room, for his mother had forbidden him from going out. "Oh?" He had said, feigning surprise. "I wasn't aware you still lived here." and his son had glared at him something fierce.)

But most peculiar of all was how the sun shone brighter when the boy walked among the trees, or how where he would roam, flowers bloomed behind him, growing wherever he put down his feet. When he got upset there would be sudden hail and when he got flustered the air would grow inexplicably warmer.

For you see, this child had been gifted with a blessing which undid The Joxter's curse, returning life to what his father had so tragically undone. And where he went, growth would follow, blossoming and filling the air with fresh scents and petals. Even the daylight seemed to favor him, lengthening the days so that the boy could enjoy them more.

So it was that the child came to be known as Spring, Kevät, Lente to the people, though his parents had named him Snufkin.

He grew up to be much like his father, with a compulsion to see the world and wander it aimlessly, looking for something nobody could fantom. Something that was most likely never able to be found, but merely existed to facilitate their obligation to the world, as dictated by their creation, destined to travel it endlessly and herald the seasons wherever they went.

Unable to meet anymore, for they were two sides of the same coin, and autumn and spring rarely visit the same place concurrently. The world would surely tremble if they ever should, though that might be a story for another time.

* * *

Moominpappa closed his book with a soft thud, taking a moment to let the tale sink in. His son was thinking it over carefully, the blanket held in small clenched fists as he seemed to consider whether his next question was deemed too blunt.

"It's beautiful." He said eventually. "But did it really happen, Pappa?"

"Of course it did-" Pappa responded with some annoyance, miffed that his son would even think as such. "The best tales are always found in the real world after all."

Moomin seemed to consider this too, then nodded. "I think so as well." He agreed. "But how do you know?"

"Well," It was raining outside, rhythmic tapping of droplets against the window. "You would need to read my memoirs to find out. Which you will, of course, once they're finished. But it might suffice to say that I've met some peculiar people in my youth."

He tucked the blankets closer around his son, who had followed his gaze towards the window and the cold wetness that lay beyond.

"I hope spring will come to the valley soon." Moomin said sincerely. "I hope I get to meet him."

Pappa hummed, mind elsewhere. Far away, on a little boat drifting at the mercy of a dangerous sea perhaps. Simply saying. "I'm sure you will someday."

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**Tumblr: sharada-n**


	2. Chapter 2

**I actually wrote this over 6 months ago but didn't want to update because it happens chronologically after another chapter, where snufkin meets moomin. But then I decided, hey I've been sitting on this too long. *yeet***

**This chapter: **Autumn meets Spring, and tries to caution them against falling in love with a mortal. Snufkin doesn't heed fair warnings.

* * *

"You shouldn't be here."

The sky had become overcast, the forest had changed in an instant from warm and inviting to cold and dark, the sun that had previously shed its rays through the branches all but gone.

The Joxter tipped his hat, adorned with twine and brightly colored leaves. "Is that any way to greet your father, little one. You'd almost think you aren't happy to see me."

Snufkin scowled at the affectionate nickname, tapping his pipe against his leg to get rid of the excess tobbaco stuck inside and go about preparing a new one. "That's irrelevant," he said, not commenting on the truth of such statement either way. "Still means you shouldn't be here."

"It couldn't hurt for just a minute, now could it?"

A dark mass of clouds rolled above them, rumbling in subdued agitation, threatening a formidable storm. The stark blue of the sky ugly and carved through with their grey mass, clashing dangerously. Both of them regarded the spectacle for a second before looking at each other, Snufkin with a frown on his face. Joxter merely smirked.

"Do not fret so much, my son. It hardly becomes someone like you." He splayed out on the ground carelessly, his clothes already dirty after months of travel. "Besides, it has happened before."

"As is well remembered," Snufkin remarked. He held his pipe to the flames of his campfire, an unconventional way to light it but the sparks seemed to obey him just the same. "That day is still spoken of in folktales by many people. We are not allowed to let it get that bad again."

"I know."

They sat in amiable silence for a bit, while the weather recoiled above them. The sunbeams filtered through the clouds from time to time, vivid in their attempts at overcoming the brooding tempest. People would be wondering already why the world behaved so oddly today.

"Why have you come then?" Snufkin asked at length when his father showed no sign of either leaving or stating his cause. Autumn could be terribly languid like that, as was fit for the season he fostered.

The Joxter merely lifted his hat from his face in answer, which he had put there to ward off the stubborn sunlight trying to chase away his gloom. He watched Snufkin smoke for a few minutes more before saying. "Can a parent not simply see how their child is faring in this cold, cruel world?"

"Certainly," Snufkin responded without missing a beat. "A parent could do that."

With a soft laugh Joxter put his hat back down, covering his eyes once more. "Pity that you should be a deity, for you would have made an impressive comedian otherwise. Though on second thought, the world is neither cold nor cruel to you of course."

The sound of thunder echoed uncomfortably close by, but the rain was kept at bay by the conflicting elements, as if uncertain if it should fall. Their gifts were too near in power to distinguish between a clear victor.

"The world is plenty cruel for everyone," Snufkin said, head thrown back to watch the brooding storm. "Even for someone like me."

"And why would that be?"

"I think you already know."

Clearly his intent had been obvious from the start, but that didn't mean Joxter was any better about getting to the point quickly. Snufkin had a rather irritating way of doing that, preferring to pick a direct path in conversations that cut straight to the heart of the matter, to keep any social interactions as short-lived as possible. They were different like that.

"Surprising you has never been easy," he said instead, "But now you wound me. To think so lowly of me. Can't you conceive of any other reasons I'd visit you then?"

"Plenty." A tree shed its leaves, brown and withered. They danced in the breeze, hitting the ground near Snufkin's feet and promptly turning green with life again. "But none of those are why you're here."

With a grunt, Joxter pushed himself upright, his hat toppling off and into his lap in the process. He fiddled with it for a bit, straightening the fabric between his fingers. "If you already know there is no point in me saying it."

Lightning shot down near them, illuminated the forest for a second before it returned to its unusual state of half-light, shadow, and sunbeams fighting for dominance. The earth was unsteady beneath their feet, suspended in animation.

Joxter leaned one elbow against his crossed knees and rested his chin on his hand, amused. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not."

"Lies are not very becoming of you either, little one."

Snufkin scoffed, pipe momentarily forgotten as he clenched it in one fist. "And you do know me so well."

"Like the back of my hand." And Joxter laid his palm on the ground as if to demonstrate. "But I do know much more. I know summer lasted longer in the valley this year than it had any right to, for example."

His son seemed to bristle at the statement, spluttering for a moment. Flowers sprouted up from the ground between them at the sudden rush of emotion, Morning Glory and Begonia. Interesting choice, Joxter couldn't help but think. Symbolism was rarely lost on him.

"There's no need for you to get flustered really," he said quickly, as Snufkin crossed his arms defensively and stood up, a clear sign that if Joxter prolonged the exchange much longer he would make himself scarce. He was often one for running away from his own problems, especially those of the emotive kind. "It was merely an observation."

Flowers had bloomed all around them now. Snufkin's gift had brought them into the world, but the Joxter's presence gave them thorns, sharp and unnatural. It was an odd sight.

"What else did you observe, then?" Snufkin asked after a moment, though he did not sit back down. He seemed to be internally debating on whether to put out the fire or not.

"Plenty of things." One of the flowers grew right up against Joxter's leg. He touched it and it wilted, bending down to the ground miserably. "I'm just warning you not to get attached, really."

Snufkin laughed, a soft sound laced with enough bitterness for both of them. "You say that, but winter has also been prolonged in the valley enough times, don't you think so?"

It was a truth, so Joxter didn't feel the need to answer.

It was not in their essence. It went against all their instincts. Nature deities of their kind were not in the habit of any kind of devotion to somebody besides themselves, fickle and changeable, and much too volatile. But Moomins were gentle creatures, fragile in their own way but very reliable and patient in many others and if there was any creature a being such as the two of them could form an attachment to, it would certainly be a Moomin.

Joxter knew as such from personal experience too.

"That wasn't the same though." He put in nonchalantly. "I knew when to let go, so I did. I do not linger anymore."

And that too was a truth, for autumn had only visited Moominvalley briefly in the past decade, to change the season, as was their duty.

"I can let go too," Snufkin mumbled, making up his mind about the fire apparently. He held a hand above it, and the flames flickered smaller, their heat fading quickly.

"I don't believe you, little one."

"Then don't."

Joxter's legs spread in front of him, the flowers around him had formed a dark patch of decay as they died due to his company, but he went on regardless. "I believe that you are incapable of letting go, in fact. I believe you are in too deep already, that you have sold your heart too easily and that you are only setting yourself up for disappointment and grief."

There was just the slightest amount of snowfall now, the flakes melting as soon as they hit the ground. Joxter caught one in his palm, voice soft. "I do believe you have fallen in love with a mortal, my dear."

Snufkin didn't respond or look at him. He had devoted himself to the task of collecting his few possessions in silence, completely absorbed by the simple motions.

"Are you angry at me?" Joxter asked him, though he cared little for the answer really.

For a few seconds Snufkin didn't say anything. Then without looking back, he sighed. "No. I've never been angry at you."

"Angry with yourself then?"

Again no response. The wind had picked up menacingly now, making it so they both had to hold on to their hats in order not to lose them. Snufkin kept packing with his free hand though.

"Love is not a virtue for us, Snufkin," Joxter said. "It is neither a blessing nor a curse. To us it will remain a blade. We will only end up getting our due cuts, healing over time but always leaving scars."

"Don't speak in language as old as yourself," his child reproached. "It makes you sound ancient. And it doesn't become you." His own words echo back at him, painfully. "Besides, you had Mother."

"That's not the same either." Joxter chided, bracing himself against the ground, having to raise his voice over the ruckus of the earth in distress just to be heard. They were running out of time quicker than he had anticipated and somewhere that hurt too. "You know all too well she also left her marks on me. But time will not claim her as it will your friend."

"I'm leaving now," was all Snufkin had to say to that, and as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulders and turned away, Joxter knew for certain he'd be back in the valley by sundown.

"You're being stubborn _and_ childish," he called after him, though it was clear his son had made up his mind about ignoring him. "What a dreadful combination that is."

His surroundings grew colder rapidly as Spring departed, the snow now picking up in earnest. The sun left with them. Joxter laid back down again - the flowers turned to frost around him - and mused about the tragedy of life and the cruelty of love, without caring how ancient that thought would make him.

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**Tumblr: sharada-n**


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